


This Old House

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Activist AU, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 17:20:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7723147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire and Éponine join a club on accident, and stay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Old House

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nivena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nivena/gifts).



“I don’t know what it is,” Grantaire repeats, pushing through the screen door and immediately doubling back for an umbrella. Eponine’s just two stairs behind him, holding one for each of them. He grins at her before they step out of their building. “A feeling, I guess. They closed down a block of dime stores on the river, so I guess I’m just – a little worried.”

Eponine nods, sidestepping a gutter flooding water and trash back onto the street. They’re hardly wearing the right shoes for this – she’s got ratty flats that she can run in, and he’s wearing his one pair of jazz shoes, neither of which can withstand another summer storm. And there are still a couple of blocks to go.

You’d think that it would cool down a little at night, but the humidity is as thick as ever, and the pair wades through the crowds just as breathlessly as everyone else. Grantaire can’t tell if that’s sweat or rain running down the backs of his legs (and if he thinks about it, he doesn’t even want to know). 

Eponine’s phone goes off in her pocket and she pulls it up to her ear just as a row of cars honks down the first line from the other end. She catches up to Grantaire with a half-shouted, “Are you sure?” After a few seconds of listening, she starts to slow her pace. “Are you already there?” then, “If it’s got bread, I don’t think he’ll mind.” She laughs quietly before hanging up and looping an arm with Grantaire, who has to stand a little straighter so that it isn’t an uncomfortable hold between them.

“What’s happening?” Grantaire asks. There’s no point in him holding up an umbrella when it’s just going to repeatedly stab Eponine in the eye, so he quickly bundles his up and shuffles under hers. “I feel like we were talking about me for a second.”

“Gav says the Musain is closed tonight, so he went the next block over to the café with all the bar fights out front.” She catches his expression and squeezes his arm a little. “They’ve probably got some repairs, R. It’s not the first time they’ve been closed during the week.”

“I know,” Grantaire says, and then sighs. If Gavroche isn’t concerned then Grantaire probably doesn’t need be, either, because the boy picks up on everything. “But it’s another few blocks to walk, and I don’t think these babies can survive that.” He looks at his shoes and then at Eponine’s, and then at Eponine’s soaked lower half because the umbrella isn’t big enough to be of much help. “I don’t know if you can, either, to be honest.”

Eponine laughs and they maneuver their way closer to the buildings so that the occasional sign can provide a hint of shelter as they pass. Grantaire knows he’s sweating now, out of everywhere, and just the thought of having to walk an extra block (or four. It’s four) has him wanting to collapse into Eponine’s arms. He knows she would carry him if he asked.

“Still alive?” She asks when they pass the dark windows of the Musain, a family diner with an overly extravagant name. It looks the same as it did last night, with no lights. Grantaire lets out a breath; he’d expected something more along the lines of boarded up windows and missing lights and stripped paint. Eponine hears him and chuckles.

Eponine’s description of the Corinthe stands true to fact. They’re a few feet away from the door when they hear it burst open and see three people drag out a drunken patron shouting obscenities at everyone who passes. The guy actually carrying him deposits him on the sidewalk and heads back inside, unbothered, while the other two struggle to carry their friend to the bus stop. Eponine and Grantaire observe from afar in silence.

“I can see why Gav would want to come here,” Grantaire says as they head inside. It’s larger than the Musain, and louder, with a long bar along the back wall and an open meeting room on the right. The meeting in session erupts once but quiets quickly for the diners sitting on the left.

They find Gavroche sitting at the open bar with two empty glasses and his mouth around the straw of a third. His Spiderman backpack is unzipped on the barstool to his right, and when they get closer they can see him coloring in the examples on his math homework.

Eponine abandons Grantaire’s arm to plant a kiss in Gavroche’s twists. Gavroche turns around and grins, still missing his front two teeth from his run-in with a crack in the sidewalk two days earlier. He flashes Grantaire his coloring, still a wonderful, abstract, total disregard of lines. 

“I’m amazed,” Grantaire tells him, moving the backpack to his lap to sit on his other side. He stops himself from looking at the drinks; not in front of Gavroche, he promised Eponine.

“You missed it,” Gavroche lisps, turning to face the rest of the café. “There was a guy at the meeting and he got all angry at the guy talking, and then he threw his bottle at him,” he says, pausing for a sip of his orange juice, “and then this big, big guy came and just picked him up, and dumped him outside, and then he came back in to finish the meeting and he’s sitting right there,” He points at the tallest meeting attendee a few feet away.

“That’s crazy,” Eponine says. The look in her eyes reads something like we’re never coming back here.

Grantaire changes the subject to avoid laughing. “Are you guys hungry?” Gavroche chokes on his straw he’s nodding so fast. Eponine gathers his homework and helps him off the barstool while Grantaire takes the backpack and hunts down a table for them to sit at. It’s just their luck that the only available tables are on the meeting side, right where Gav wants to be, right where Eponine was hoping not to go.

“I think he’s the speaker guy.” Eponine nods at the blond at the front of the room, listening to the guy sitting closest to him. The others are spaced out on tiny tables and chairs around him, chattering in their own small conversations, but it’s clear they’re just waiting for him to start again.

Grantaire doesn’t know why, but he feels like he’s seen that face before. It might’ve been on the street in passing, but Grantaire’s pretty sure he wouldn’t forget that resting frown. But he knows the leader somehow, and he finds himself just staring right at him while he gets back to speaking.

He doesn’t know how long Eponine lets it go on before she snaps her fingers in front of his face and draws his attention to their shared potato dinner. She hands him a fork before digging in herself, giving a grateful moan at the first steaming bite of hash browns.

“Where’s Gav?” Grantaire notices after a few bites.

Eponine motions to a couple of tables away while she swallows. “He said he’d be back, and then he took his burger and sat at some random guy’s table.” They both lean a little to see tiny fifth-grader Gavroche talking animatedly to the huge guy he’d pointed at earlier, eyes bright and excited. The other guy sitting at the table alternates between listening to Gavroche and paying attention to the speaker. Neither of them seems bothered, though, so they let it be.

“That’s the one who dumped the guy on the curb, right?” Eponine asks, stuffing her mouth with more forkfuls of browns. 

“I think so,” Grantaire says. Around them, the meeting seems to have ended, and everyone breaks back off into smaller groups to talk. A significant portion head towards the table with Gavroche, and Eponine starts to eat a little slower. She’s tall enough to keep him in sight even with the crowd, but Grantaire can see that she’s still on edge.

“Should we go get him?”

Gavroche laughs, loud enough for them to hear across the room. Eponine looks at Grantaire, then spears another bite. “We can wait a little,” She says, a little less concerned. “Did you listen to the speech thing?”

Grantaire wants to say something like obviously, since he’d been watching so intently, but he just shakes his head. Eponine raises an eyebrow at him, but before he can brush her off she continues. 

“Blondie works for the mayor, and he’s trying to keep living rates in Southside down.”

Grantaire snorts. “No one wants to live in our shitty neighborhood anyway.”

“Apparently people do, because it’s on the river.” Eponine says, and Grantaire thinks back to the dime shops. He doesn’t know what’s opening up there, but the whole block’s in construction for a single building. Fifteen local shops gone, just like that, in the span of two weeks.

“So what’s he doing?” Grantaire asks. He glances back and finds the blond standing closer, smiling down at Gavroche while the boy speaks. Grantaire prefers this look to the determined fury he’d had earlier, but that wasn’t a bad look, either. “I mean, how much can he do under the current mayor?”

“You should ask him yourself,” Eponine says, looking down at the plate and snagging the last bite.

Grantaire readies himself to negotiate payment for that wrongdoing when he feels someone standing beside him. “That’s R,” he hears from somewhere above him, which can’t be right. He looks up, finds Gavroche perched on some stranger’s back, hands tight in the guy’s hair. “And Eponine. Guys, this is—” Gavroche cuts himself off to look down, embarrassed at forgetting the name.

The stranger doesn’t seem to mind. He’s just a little taller than Grantaire, with curled hair and a glasses tan and freckles that disappear down his shirt. “I’m Courfeyrac,” He introduces, holding out a hand. Grantaire stands and shakes twice, and then pull Gavroche off of Courfeyrac’s shoulders. “I don’t think I’ve seen the three of you here before.”

“We’re usually at the Musain.” Eponine stands when Courfeyrac holds out a hand to her, and he startles at her height. Grantaire bites down a laugh. “It was closed today, so Gavroche picked the next best thing.”

“We should just come here,” Gavroche interjects, pausing in packing his papers into his backpack. Eponine bends down to wipe the ketchup off the side of his mouth. “Sometimes,” he amends, “Because Chetta is the best waitress, and she works there.”

“The Musain?” Courfeyrac pauses. “The diner a couple blocks down?”

“Yeah, you been?”

“No,” Courfeyrac admits, “But I have a couple of friends that go there a lot. I don’t actually live in this part of the city.”

“You don’t look it,” Gavroche blurts, as kids are wont to, and Courfeyrac laughs while Eponine nudges Gav in the shoulder. “You look super uptown. And you talk uptown, too.”

Courfeyrac pats Gavroche’s head. “Actually, I am from uptown. So are a lot of the people here. That’s where the mayor’s office is, see, and we want to live close to where we work.”

“You all work for the mayor?” Eponine says, speaking for the first time. 

Courfeyrac has to crane his neck a little back to look her in the eye when he speaks, but he seems more intrigued by it than anything else. “I do, and so does Enjolras – he’s the guy who was speaking earlier,” Courfeyrac turns a little, points at one of the two far tables, “And everyone sitting at that table. Our friends live in Southside, so we decided to meet them here.”

“Welcome,” Gavroche says, and Courfeyrac laughs again. Grantaire smiles at Courfeyrac because his laugh is contagious. 

Gavroche steps around them to tug at Eponine’s jacket, and she lifts him up. He immediately conks out on her shoulder. “We should be getting back,” Eponine says, looking between the two of them.

“Yeah, sorry for keeping you,” Courfeyrac says, stepping back to let them out of their corner. Grantaire shoulders the backpack and glances outside – the rain’s stopped, thank god. “It was nice meeting all of you – Gavroche really got everyone’s attention.”

That gets a small smile out of Eponine. “You too.” 

“Good luck with your – endeavors,” Grantaire says. 

Courfeyrac laughs and claps him on the back. “Hopefully I’ll see you guys again,” he tells them.

 

It’s sooner than any of them expected because the Musain is closed again the next week, but they find Musichetta outside, fixing her scarf in the glass. She scoops Gavroche into her arms and plants kisses all over his cheeks before doing the same to Grantaire and squeezing Eponine in a tight hug.

“It’s been ages since I last saw you,” She says, and starts walking, motioning for them to follow along with her. “I don’t know why we’re closed today, but Bossuet—” she stops, “He moved in with me by the way.” She does a little fist pump before continuing.

“Bossuet joined this activist group last year and they’re really picking things up now. They want to clean up the neighborhood, put in another school, get more benefits for minimum wage workers, all that. They have a meeting today, and you guys should come. Represent the grit of Southside a little more.”

Musichetta works two jobs during the week and a third with a forty-minute commute on weekends, and still lives on the same street as Grantaire and Eponine. While Grantaire doesn’t exactly hate his job as a construction worker, it pays dirt. And Eponine works eighty-hour weeks. So while the jokes are funny, they’re funny because they’re painfully true.

“I think we might’ve already gone to one of those meetings.” Musichetta’s face lights up. “And we met someone – Courfeyrac?”

“Courf?” Chetta grins. “Did you like him?”

“Yes,” Eponine replies, and Musichetta gives her arm a squeeze. 

It’s madness in the Corinthe again, with more diners and more drunks and more excitement happening in the meeting corner. Gavroche abandons them and makes a beeline for the tallest kind-of bouncer again, and Courfeyrac lights up and waves them over from the door.

“You two go ahead,” Musichetta says, heading towards the bar, “I’m going to meet up with Bossuet first. Best of luck,” She winks at them before breaking off.

Courfeyrac catches them, though, and doesn’t let them feel awkward about it. He goes in for a hug with Grantaire without warning, but only squeezes Eponine’s hand before introducing them to the people he was talking to.

“These are the two Gavroche was talking about,” Courfeyrac says, “Grantaire and Eponine. They live by the elementary school.”

One of the two – Combeferre, Courf names – gives them a polite smile and a handshake before glancing back down at his notebook, and then at his phone. And Enjolras, up close, smiles a lot brighter than he looks to from far away. Grantaire’s almost convinced to join them right there.

“You probably know him from when he was arrested on TV last year—”

“You really bring that up at every opportunity,” Enjolras cuts off, but yes, Grantaire can place the face now.

“Protests move this country forward,” Combeferre says, “But yeah, he brings it up a lot.”

“It was exciting,” Courf says. “It was the most patriotic thing I’ve seen in person. I was proud to call you my friend.” Even Grantaire can tell Enjolras feels the tiniest swell of pride at that. Courf puts a hand on Grantaire’s shoulder. “So how long have you two been together?”

It’s something they’ve been asked a few hundred times, but Grantaire still feels caught off-guard for a second. Eponine saves him for the umpteenth time they’ve known each other. “We’re roommates, actually. Calls for cheaper rent, and Gav likes R enough to keep him around.”

“Oh,” all three of them go at the same time. Grantaire and Eponine glance at each other for a second, confused. Combeferre looks up from his paper to reassess them, Courfeyrac gives a long pause, and Enjolras looks at Grantaire in a seemingly new light. And they’ve all known each other for a matter of two minutes.

Gavroche materializes by Eponine’s side while they’re sizing each other up. “Ponine,” he whispers, tugging at her hand. 

She pets his head. “Yeah, okay.” She looks at Grantaire. “I’m gonna buy him dinner. Just a sec.” She nods at the other three before letting Gavroche drag her to the counter. 

“You’re R?” Enjolras asks when she’s gone.

Grantaire blinks at him. “Yeah. It was a joke, originally, but now my friends call me that and – yeah.”

“You’re Bossuet and Musichetta’s friend, right?” Courfeyrac asks. “They talk about you a lot.”

“That can’t be good,” Grantaire laughs, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You’re a great dancer, a jazz pianist, a construction worker, and tiny,” Courf ticks off on his fingers. He looks at Combeferre. “Did I forget anything?”

“He likes drinking?”

“’Like’ is a fantastic understatement,” Grantaire says. “But clearly you guys have an advantage on me here. I know nothing about you except that you live uptown.”

“Courfeyrac is the youngest of the three of us, I’m trilingual, Enjolras has a growing criminal record,” Combeferre supplies, and it looks like his written work’s taking a backseat for now; he sets it down on the table beside them and instead focuses on Grantaire. 

“It’s not growing,” Enjolras says, but he’s halfway smiling as he says it. He looks back at Grantaire. “You and Eponine should come to our meetings. We discuss, plan events, and provide the occasional group therapy session,” he shrugs. “It’s a good place to make friends.”

“Is there an admission process or something? Do I fill out a form?”

“No,” Combeferre says, “I definitely don’t have time to read any forms besides the ones I’m paid to.”

Grantaire laughs. “Good to know? I’ll talk to Eponine about it.” After a pause, “We’re pretty attached to the Musain, though, so we’ll see.”

“Door’s always open,” Courf says.

“Door’s open until meeting adjourns at nine-thirty,” Combeferre corrects, “But you can get our number if you’re not free then.” With that, he takes his phone in one hand and Courf in the other and walks to the quieter corner of the café, talking into the speaker before he’s fully turned away.

Enjolras and Grantaire watch them go for a second. “Sorry about that,” Enjolras starts. “It’s a busy week for us – Valjean’s running for reelection, but the chief of police doesn’t really want to see him go another term.”

“It’s no problem.” Then, “The same chief of police who arrested you a few times?”

Enjolras gives a stiff laugh. “Javert isn’t known for responding well to public assemblies.”

“What were you protesting?”

“There were a few families evicted from their apartments on fifth because they couldn’t afford the rent hike last year,” Enjolras says. Some of the heat from his announcements starts to leak into the conversation, “And they were dumped onto the streets even though they’ve lived there for years, while all these people from uptown started flooding in because rent’s way cheaper down here than it would’ve been where they are.”

Grantaire recognizes the story, recognizes the protest. It happened in his building. “What happened to the families?” Because he knows they didn’t get their rooms back; the landlords, with the help of the police, made sure of that.

“We helped them get situated in the next county over,” Enjolras says, “Found them small apartments and grittier jobs, but they’re getting by. But if the group had been just a little larger–” He shakes his head, “We wouldn’t have been able to help anyone.”

Grantaire nods. A part of him feels settled knowing that his downstairs neighbors have a roof over their heads, but the rest of him knows what this means. And Enjolras and his group of friends can’t get all of Southside settled in new homes with new jobs.

Grantaire glances behind him. Eponine’s standing at the bar, Gavroche digging into a burger beside her, talking to someone who almost completely blocks her from Grantaire’s view, he’s so big. He makes a joke and their laughter echoes back to where Grantaire’s standing.

Enjolras looks amused. “Usually Bahorel doesn’t get past one line with pretty girls.”

“I’m surprised Eponine hasn’t rejected him yet,” Grantaire turns back to Enjolras. “I think the last time she made a new friend was Musichetta, back in high school.” 

Enjolras hums in response, watches Eponine for a little longer. Then he looks back at Grantaire. “Sorry for assuming, by the way – you two just seemed to work, I guess.”

“We get it all the time,” Grantaire waves off. “It doesn’t help that Gav takes off after me in the most frustrating ways.”

“That’s cute,” Enjolras tells him, genuinely, and Grantaire laughs.

Grantaire’s phone vibrates with an alarm in his pocket, and he pulls it out to check the time. “Oh, shit.”

“Something wrong?”

“No, just—” he turns to look at Eponine, who’s already gathering Gavroche’s things. “Eponine’s shift is about to start, so I should get Gavroche home.”

“Of course,” Enjolras steps aside. “Wait, Grantaire, did you want – do you want to exchange numbers?”

Grantaire pauses for half a second, “Sure,” and adds himself to Enjolras’ phone and then he’s out the door, following Eponine’s super long strides into the heat.

 

He only goes because Eponine’s going, and he wants to see how far this thing they’ve started is going to go. Musichetta picks the two of them up an hour after they drop Gavroche off at the pier for his week of outdoor ed, completely decked out in every bright color she owns, and still manages to look amazing.

“It’s been six years since we had Pride in this damn city,” Musichetta says, squishing Grantaire’s cheeks, “You can afford to be a little happy. Eponine even took a day off for this.”

And Eponine’s clearly been thinking about it all day, but she doesn’t let Grantaire address it, so he lets her worry in silence. Thank god for Musichetta, who knows how to distract them quickly. “We can worry about rent and school and bills tonight, but I’ve been waiting for this for months. And you’d better come to the Corinthe today, I swear,” she gives them both a look, and then tugs them further along.

The parade’s already started when they get there, and they find the rest of their club (“The Les Amis? Are you shitting me?” Courf had laughed, “It gets people’s attention. Just roll with it.”) running behind the dykes on bikes, covered in glitter and powder and a ridiculous number of flags.

Grantaire finds Enjolras first, his red jacket covered in red glitter, and tugs on his jacket to get his attention.

“You came!” Enjolras shouts over the music, laughing. He’s probably a little drunk, Grantaire thinks. “I had no idea this many people would come. But you came!”

Grantaire shrugs. “Wouldn’t miss an opportunity for free drinks.”

Enjolras shoots him a frown but it quickly gives way to a smile. “We’ll convert you yet. You’re just digging yourself deeper, you know.”

Grantaire knows, but he shrugs and marches with them. And it is exciting, and exhilarating, that a group of kids could bring back something that’s been stopped every year since the police force changed heads, and that they could do it after planning for just a few months.

They get cut off at the bridge after only an hour, but it’s enough – the busiest streets are backed up and littered with color, everyone is laughing, people are putting up rainbows in their windows, and not a single person gets arrested.

When they’re walking back to the Corinthe, the entire Les Amis are drunk and loud and an explosion of color that’s almost hard to look at, but Eponine’s happy, and Musichetta is happy, and they have a lot of drinking to do, so Grantaire’s really, really happy.

“You should really join,” Enjolras is saying, the back of his hand brushing every few steps against the back of Grantaire’s. “We could use someone the city knows well – almost everyone at Pride was talking to you! And they’ll trust you more than some privileged kids from uptown.”

“True,” Grantaire says, and when he says nothing else, dodges a smack aimed for his arm.

“I’m being serious,” Enjolras says, slipping into a calmer tone. Grantaire still has no idea how he does that. “We’ll work to make it easier on you and Eponine, and Gavroche will have more places to go to after school, and you can work fewer hours but keep your home. And you won’t have a Starbucks on every block.”

“Glad we’re on the same page,” Grantaire says, “But I’m good.” They’re making it work where they are now, and though the Mondays at the Corinthe were originally a turnoff, he doesn’t mind them so much. The Musain still holds him for performances on Fridays, so they still have some extra cash for Grantaire’s late nights.

Before Enjolras can make a sharp comeback, Grantaire stops in his tracks. Eponine bumps into him, and Musichetta comes up beside him as soon as she realizes what door they’re standing in front of.

MUSAIN – OUT OF BUSINESS.

Musichetta swears loudly and Grantaire reads the sign two, three times before looking at Eponine. Eponine looks back at him. “You were right,” She says, peering inside, but the curtains are down and they can’t see a thing. “I can’t believe it.”

“I can’t lose this job,” Musichetta says, pulling out her phone.

Grantaire looks back at Enjolras, the only one who seems unsurprised by the sign. “I can’t lose my Friday nights,” Grantaire tells him.

“I know.”

Grantaire looks at the sign again, but Eponine says it for him. “I’ll join your club. What do I need to do?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for the prompt, hope I did it justice! :)


End file.
